


An Exchange After Rehearsal

by 100dabbo



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Ballet, Childhood Memories, Daddy Issues, Flirting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:47:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28431900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/100dabbo/pseuds/100dabbo
Summary: Robert's mother was the only one who understood his passion for ballet. He meets a handsome stranger after rehearsal with an equal appreciation for the art.
Relationships: Eames/Robert Fischer
Comments: 14
Kudos: 14
Collections: Secret Saito 2020





	An Exchange After Rehearsal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Valkrist (Anouk_Tyrell)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anouk_Tyrell/gifts).



> I hope you like it Val, I loved the prompt! ♥

It only took Mrs Fischer a weekend before she conceded to Robert’s request. 

Relative to all past occasions where Robert had begged for something beyond reason, it seemed quite a long time.

He’d seen it on the television, the sparkly outfits and dancers trained with grace and poise, expressing themselves and throwing their bodies at the whim of the music’s lilting journey, unfolding the story of the performance with art. His eyes had never been more glued to a screen, his mind fixated on one thing, and one thing only.

“ _Ballet!_ ”

His pleading ocean eyes got the better of her, and as she tucked back a hair behind his ear, gone stray with his excitement, and she said,

“Just don’t tell your father.” 

Unlike every other childhood obsession Robert had, like the dolls and the dresses he’d collect with an impulsive desire for more, this one refused to diminish. Perhaps it was her death, the fact that it was the last thing she granted him to do that encouraged him to be who he was, or maybe it was just to spite his father and prove that he wasn’t a drop out in anything, especially not the arts.

Still, that didn’t mean it wasn’t subject to complaining.

The pointe shoes were too painful, his tights would always rip, and getting his custom outfits on time was rarely an ease, and on top of all of that, he would be forced to share the same studio with other dancers. It wouldn’t have been an issue if they too took up to discipline of ballet, but in being the opposite, street dancers and contemporary performers, Robert had to turn his nose up.

The silk ribbon of those damnably tough pointe slippers were finally being released after an aching three hours of rehearsal, Robert letting his body finally rest in a slouch against the locker room wall, sliding his back down until he was seated on the bench.

At last, a fleeting solitude had been attained, Robert alone with his own thoughts will his toes flexed and his legs stretched, coming down from the practice he enjoyed so dearly, reduced to merely muscle and joint pain. He sucked in a deep breath, smiling to himself as he took his change bag down from its peg, ready to get himself home to relax, when the door swung open, and a man stepped in.

He was broadly set, a tank-top coving his muscled torso, sweat dripping off his brow. His eyes flicked up to Robert, looking into his bewildered blue eyes with a smirk.

Maybe not all contemporary dancers were so bad.

When Robert didn’t say a word in reply, _couldn’t_ say a word in reply, Eames finally chuckled at him, setting his own bag down to sit on the opposite bench. His gaze couldn’t help but track over the outfit he was wearing; the pink tights, the lace embroidered leotard, the silken slippers being relieved from his feet.

“What are you looking at?” Robert asked, crossing his legs over, punching his arms into the sleeves of his coat to cover up.

The other man simply raised his hands either side of his head, his body language expressing guilt before his tongue did,

“Sorry, sorry,” He said, “Just you.”

“Just _me?_ ” He stood from the bench, slipping his feet into a change of shoes.

“You look nice, that’s all.” 

“Maybe I’ll make a friend!” Robert squealed at Mrs Fischer in the car to the studio, “Maybe I’ll meet a boy!”

She ruffled his hair, the rings on her fingers glinting in the sunlight streaming through the car windows, the shadows falling on her smiling, proud, face.

“I’m not sure many boys take ballet Bobby, don’t be too disappointed if you don’t,” She said to him, her soft voice making him pout, “But you look lovely, just enjoy yourself.”

He beamed at the praise and the car pulled up to the curb. She patted him on the back and walked him into the building, careful to hold his hand as he raced up the stairs so he didn’t stumble in his new slippers, cherishing his awe when his eyes first set their gaze on the vast, open hall; the wall of mirrors staring back at him.

“Thanks,” Robert replied, sitting back down on the bench. The stranger grinned and started changing too. “Robert,” He told him, “Robert Fischer.”

“Eames.” The other replied, taking his eyes off of him to focus on his own task, but his curiosity and amicable nature couldn’t be helped, “What made you take up, uh… ballet, is it?”

“My mother.” 

“A ballerina, was she?” Eames smirked, pulling the tank top off, replacing it with another. Robert blinked slowly before replying,

“No,” He cleared his throat, “She looked like one, though.”

“Not anymore?”

Fischer shook his head, looking to the floor. Eames cleared his throat, “Just a hobby, or?”

Why he was asking so many questions, Robert couldn’t tell, but it wasn’t like he didn’t enjoy the attention he was giving him.

“Yeah,” He finally looked back up at him, “There’s a gala in the new year, but my father’s not gonna come so I probably won’t even enjoy it.” He slumped back with the same exhaustion as when he’d first sat down, like the sentiment he was speaking of was heavier than the ache of a tired body. “Just once it’d be nice if he cared.”

“You’re not going anymore, Robert, and that’s final!”

Maurice told him his stance on his passion just one week after Mrs Fischer’s passing. It was no surprise to see the welcome tears flow from Robert’s eyes at the decision. 

All he could do was bury his face in the skirts and tutus his mother had bought him just a few months prior, ready for his next recital and exam, ready for the next chapter of his hobby to unfold, his ambitions to flourish all the more.

It only took a tantrum and the destruction of Maurice’s favourite coat to convince him to change his mind.

“My folks live in the UK, they’ve never been able to come to a single one of mine.” Eames said, attempting to relate in the best way possible, though he quickly realised that all it came across as was sappy. 

“Just fly them out.” Robert shrugged, finally pulling his change of clothes out of the bag.

“Well, I would if I could, Robert, but when I’m barely scraping my rent—"

“You come to my gala and I’ll pay for some flights, how does that sound?”

It sounded desperate, shamelessly desperate, but Fischer didn’t hesitate at all. Until Eames chuckled again. “Fuck, sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything, you don’t even know me, why would you want to—"

“What’s your number?”

“Huh?”

“Your number - Put it in my phone and I’ll call you. About the gala.”

“And the tickets?”

“Sure.”

Eames stepped forward, taking the phone out of his pocket and placing it in Robert’s awaiting hand, watching with a smug grin while he inputted the digits.

“Did you make any friends?!” 

Mrs Fischer’s eagerness to hear how her son’s first lesson went was overflowing by the time he finally came out of the studio.

“Yes! Yes, and she said I can come over for dinner and sleepover and come to her birthday party and her pool party also!”

“Lovely!” 

“Lovely.” Eames grinned as his phone was passed back to him, tucking it back away in his pocket, “I’ll call you when I get home.”

“Sure, I’ll be waiting.” 

Robert batted his eyelashes at him before the man left the locker room, leaving him once more to his peace and quiet. 

He took his coat off and began changing back into his clothes, turning his phone off silent before walking down the same staircase he first ascended for his first lesson. He stood on the curb with his aching feet until the pick-up car pulled up to take him home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :) Comments and kudos are always appreciated, check me out on [Tumblr](https://100dabbo.tumblr.com/)!


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